


All Life Turns to Words (But Just the Sounds)

by J (j_writes)



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-27
Updated: 2010-10-27
Packaged: 2017-10-12 22:21:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/129757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_writes/pseuds/J
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Johnny and Stephane are definitely Not Having Sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Life Turns to Words (But Just the Sounds)

The first time Johnny saw Stephane in his own rink, he was sprawled out on his back on the floor of the locker room.

He came around the corner, whistling, heading for his clothes, and nearly tripped over a pair of legs wearing skates, sticking out from behind the bench. He then proceeded to almost have a heart attack before getting further into the room and realizing that the legs and skates belonged to Stephane, who was stretched out with his water bottle pressed to his face, blinking up at Johnny in surprise.

"Jesus, Lambiel," Johnny said, setting his bag aside and perching on the bench right over Stephane's head. "I thought you were _dead_."

"Just sticky," said Stephane miserably. He dropped the bottle aside and fanned himself pathetically.

The locker room had the sharp scent of ice in the air, but it was uncomfortably warm after the blissful midsummer cold of the rink. "Too much for the delicate Swiss prince?" Johnny asked, nudging Stephane with his foot, and Stephane squirmed away.

"I long for the Alps," he said dramatically, draping an arm across his face like a romance novel heroine.

Johnny snorted. "Don't look at me," he said, "it wasn't _my_ decision for you to come train here."

Stephane peeked out from under his arm as Johnny started to strip out of his clothes. "True," he agreed. "How was Korea?" he asked Johnny's back.

Johnny shrugged. "Korean," he said, just to get a smile out of Stephane. "How much has Galina been killing you while I was gone?"

"Until I am dead," Stephane said sadly, stretching and then sitting up. "It's good, though. A good dead."

"I get that," Johnny said with feeling.

"This is working, yes?" Stephane asked. "For you, here? You're getting the training you wanted?"

"The best," Johnny said, then narrowed his eyes at him. "You're not regretting it, are you? You just got here. If you're having second thoughts, go home right now. You're not doing anyone any good being here if you don't want to be."

Stephane wrapped his arms around his knees and looked up at him. "I'm not regretting," he said calmly. "I thought maybe you were."

That made Johnny blink at him in surprise. He forgot sometimes how long they had known each other – practically as long as he'd been on the ice at all – and how much Stephane knew about him. "No," he said, meaning it, "not ever."

"You think I'm not doing you good," Stephane said, only half asking. He bent down and worked intently on taking his skates off.

"That's not what I meant," Johnny said, pulling on his practice clothes. "I'm glad you're here." Glad wasn't _exactly_ the word for it, but it wasn't entirely the wrong one, either.

"A lie," Stephane commented. "But thank you." He climbed to his feet and stretched. "Have a good practice," he said. "I am going to find an air conditioner and ask it to be my new best friend."

Johnny frowned at him. "You mean _I'm_ not your new best friend?" he asked.

Stephane looked him over and shrugged. "You're not new," he said, and squeezed Johnny's arm companionably as he headed for the door. " _I'm_ glad I'm here," he said on the way out, sounding just the tiniest bit accusing.

"Me too," Johnny said once the room was empty, and maybe meant it a little more this time.  
______________

Johnny was much better here about not storming off the ice than he'd ever been with Priscilla, but by the third day of training with Stephane, it took all of the considerable control in his body to be polite as he said, "I'm just going to – " waved at the bathroom, and left Galina standing there on the ice as he rushed for the door, maybe making it flap open just a bit too hard as he pushed through. He sat down long enough to get his skates off, then bypassed the bathroom altogether, shoving his way out the main doors to gulp in the stifling humid air of outside. Sweat gathered along his neck as he paced in front of the building, and when the door opened behind him, he didn't even turn, because it was either Viktor or Stephane, and he wanted to see neither.

"I'll be in in a minute," he said tightly, and turned just enough to see Stephane settle against the wall, watching him.

"I get it too," he said. "It's not only you."

"Fuck off," Johnny told him shortly. He'd apologize later, but right now, the last person he needed to be hearing from was Stephane, whose spins were so majestic, who moved with such fluidity, who might as well have actually been fucking royalty for how much his ass was getting kissed.

"You have _style_ , you know," Stephane said with just a hint of bitterness in his voice. "You have _personality_. Your footwork is phenomenal, and you make people _feel_ things just by stepping out on the ice. Me? I am background. Forgettable."

Johnny stopped pacing. "You're a two-time World champion and an Olympic medalist. They didn't say that."

Stephane smiled thinly. "They did, in ways."

"They're _wrong_ ," Johnny said, feeling his face heating up from more than the weather.

"Your outrage is flattering," Stephane said dryly, "but not my point. It is this: you have no more right to storm off in a – " he waved his hands, looking for a word, "an upset than I do." He pushed off the wall and didn't look at Johnny as he turned and walked back inside.

Johnny stayed breathing in the hot air for another few minutes, then followed, taking time with lacing up his skates, concentrating on the tension of the laces, the feeling of them tight around his feet. He glided out onto the ice and met Stephane in the middle.

"Fucking zen master," he said when he reached him. "You probably don't even know _how_ to get 'in an upset.'" He smiled, though, and Stephane grinned back.

"Must I remind you how many times I have need of tissues in competition?" he asked.

Johnny grinned back and reached out to pat the front of Stephane's shirt. "You should build pockets into your costumes," he said, and turned to cross the ice to Galina, who was looking at him with not nearly as much disapproval as she would have if he'd walked off alone.

"We work now," she told him, sparing just a glance for Stephane and Viktor, and Johnny nodded, taking a long breath and letting it out slowly.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Now, we work."  
______________

He woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of Paris saying "Oh _hell_ , no" loudly in the living room. He rolled over and stuffed his face into the pillow, sighing. Even if Paris had to watch terrible shows until some insane hour of the morning, Johnny had no idea why he felt the need to hold dialogues with them. Then he realized that the sounds that followed were of quiet actual conversation, not a show, with Paris sounding increasingly annoyed.

He sighed and dragged himself out of bed, pulling his blanket around his shoulders against the cold of the air conditioning. He peeked out his door to see Paris leaning against the hallway wall with his bitchface on, Stephane looking contrite just outside the front door.

"You've got a visitor, Princess," Paris told him. "Tell him he can't have my bed." He stomped back off down the hall and shut his door loudly.

"I'm sorry," Stephane said, sounding like he meant it. "I'll go…find a hotel, maybe?" he sounded uncertain.

Johnny sighed and burrowed deeper into his blanket. "No, come on, don't mind the Queen Bitch," he said, and ushered Stephane in, closing the door behind him. "Things not working out at Viktor's?"

Stephane grimaced. "Victor and Nina," he said, waving a hand, "they fight." He said it succinctly, but the dark circles that had been spreading under his eyes for weeks said more. "I look, but I haven't found a place yet. I'll go back tomorrow, I just – " he paused, seeming to lose his words for a moment. "I want to sleep. One night." He looked so longingly at Johnny's couch that Johnny couldn't help laughing at his pathetic little face.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "Paris and I fight too, but only in the daytime." He pulled out some blankets and pillows and started arranging them on the couch. "Just stay here until you find somewhere."

Stephane looked concerned. "No, I will go in the morning," he assured him, looking over his shoulder at Paris's room. "Thank you," he added, eyeing the couch hungrily.

"Galina's been pissy," Johnny told him. "Galina's pissy because you're screwing up, and you're screwing up because you're tired, and my life is harder when Galina is pissy." He stuck a finger in Stephane's face. "You're staying here."

Stephane looked him over. "You're not very intimidating when you're wearing a fluffy pink blanket," he told him, then settled onto the couch and curled up, letting out a quiet and kind of obscene moan. "All right," he said. "I lie. Your couch is the greatest thing in the world, and I am never leaving it."

Johnny squeezed his ankle through the blankets and grinned. "Good," he said, "I didn't want to actually have to tie you to it."

Stephane kicked his foot free and made a noncommittal noise into the pillow, already mostly asleep. Johnny shuffled back to bed and sprawled out under his own covers, listening to Stephane begin to snore quietly in the living room.  
______________

"Tonight," said Paris grandly, taking three glasses down from the cabinet, "we celebrate."

Stephane looked up over his book from his spot on the couch. "What are we celebrating?" he asked.

"Three people in the apartment, and we've all survived the week," he proclaimed, taking a bottle from the fridge and filling the glasses.

"No thanks to you," Johnny mumbled, taking dinner from the oven. Paris waited until it was safely on the counter before going for Johnny's ribs, tickling him and making him squirm away, swatting at Paris's hands. Stephane watched them, laughing from a safe distance, and Johnny pointed at him.

"Don't you laugh," he warned. "You'll be next."

"We have an understanding," Stephane said, calmly returning to his book.

Johnny glanced at Paris, who nodded. "I leave him alone," he said dutifully, "and he shares his chocolate."

Johnny turned to narrow his eyes at Stephane. "He's not supposed to _have_ chocolate," he said.

"And you're not supposed to have champagne," Stephane pointed out. "We all have our vices."

"Those would not be _my_ vices, if I was you guys," Paris said with feeling, going for his glass. Stephane flushed pink and glanced up at Johnny, then quickly ducked back down behind his book.

"Yeah, well," Johnny said easily. "That's because you're a whore."

"Lies!" said Paris. "I've never gotten paid."

Johnny waited until later – after dinner, when Paris had retreated to his room and Johnny and Stephane were stretched out on the couch, Johnny's feet tucked under Stephane's leg for warmth – to ask, "So, how _is_ it going with your…vices?" he leered a little, enjoying the way Stephane turned red and reached immediately for his champagne, taking a quick swallow before answering.

"I have just as much self control as you do," he said coolly. "More, I think."

Johnny smiled and nudged him with his foot. "I didn't mean _that_ ," he said. "It's just…you haven't trained like this before. It _sucks_. I'm in commiserating mode right now, not mocking mode."

"Possibly the problem," Stephane said with a mischievous look, "is that it _doesn't_ suck," he corrected.

Johnny laughed. "You have a point."

Stephane sighed deeply. "It is the worst of all training," he said. "Does she really know?"

"Have you tested it?" Johnny asked, raising an eyebrow.

Stephane shook his head. "I have done – " he paused delicately. "Only on days when I will be with Viktor."

"Smart," Johnny said. He nodded. "She knows. She always knows." He shifted. Even talking about it made him think about it, and thinking made him want it.

Next to him, Stephane smirked. "See?" he said, satisfied. "More control than you have."

"Bite me," Johnny said, and Stephane's smirk turned into a grin.

"That's against the rules too," he informed Johnny, and snapped his teeth playfully in his direction.

"Yeah," Johnny agreed, "but you have Viktor tomorrow."

He was gratified to see Stephane hesitate for a brief moment, his eyes falling to Johnny's mouth, then he dragged them back up to meet his gaze again.

"You don't," he said, and turned back to his book, lifting his glass to his lips. Johnny watched them rest against the rim of the glass, shaped around it, and it took all of his willpower not to shift uncomfortably in his pants. Instead, he sat still and stared blindly at his book, seeing instead the memory of Stephane's young face hovering hear his, uncertain, before the feeling of his lips soft and chapped against his, his hands closing around Johnny's arms, holding them together as they kissed.

He could feel his face go warm, and hoped that Stephane's book was exactly as fascinating as he seemed to find it, because if there was ever a bad time to start remembering those days in detail, it was right now.  
______________

He woke in the night parched and uncomfortable, his body reminding him exactly how long it had been since he'd had that much champagne. He lay there under the covers for a while, trying to work up the energy to push them off and stand. He eventually made it halfway there, sitting up and sliding his feet into his slippers, then sat there staring at the darkness and willing his refrigerator to bring him a tall glass of water. When that didn't work, he sighed deeply and stood, padding unsteadily to the door. He pushed it open and crept quietly out into the hall. Paris's door was closed, and on the couch, Stephane was a formless pile of blankets.

Johnny walked quietly, careful not to wake him, and it wasn't until he was halfway down the hall to the kitchen that he realized the blankets were moving. He froze against the wall, waiting for Stephane to settle back down, fall back asleep, and it was only after he heard a soft gasping hitch of breath that he realized the movement was steady, rhythmic. It took him biting his lip hard to keep from gasping back.

He stood motionless in the shadows, not so much watching as listening, straining to hear the stuttered rhythm of Stephane's breathing, the low moan he let out almost despite himself. The covers hid most of his movements, but Johnny could see his feet braced against the arm of the couch, letting him shove his hips up towards his hand.

His breathing got quicker as he got closer, and louder, like he'd forgotten to care there were other people in the house at all. He made no noise as he came, even seeming to hold his breath, but Johnny could see it in the sharp sudden movements of his body, and the way he went limp against the couch after, gasping as he kept touching himself, coming down slowly. Johnny leaned back against the wall and pictured what Stephane must look like in that moment, his eyes glazed over with pleasure, his mouth open as he struggled to breathe, his fingers curled lightly around himself, barely touching, but _there_ , teasing.

Johnny stood there without moving until he heard Stephane's breathing even out again, then stumbled back into his room without his glass of water at all. He stretched out on the bed and only kept from getting himself off by tucking his fingers into the space between the mattress and the headboard, daring himself to keep them there. He woke up in the morning with cramped fingers and a raging hard on, and when he came out to the kitchen to see Stephane sitting there drinking coffee and reading the paper in his stupid little bathrobe, looking utterly satisfied and pleased with the world, he turned around and walked right back into his room, slamming the door behind him.  
______________

Johnny skated before Stephane that morning, and by the time he saw Stephane take the ice and start warming up, his practice was nearly over. Stephane skated cleanly, calmly, maybe without just a little of the tension he'd seemed to have been holding since he started training with Galina. Johnny paused by the boards, unable to keep from watching him for a moment, the clean lines he made across the ice, the elegant turns of his hands as he moved, and when he turned back to Galina, she was watching too, her brow furrowed.

"Again, Johnny," she told him in Russian, and he complied, repeating the move he'd been working on, but when he skidded to a stop again, she had made her way across the ice, was standing in front of Stephane.

They were too far away for Johnny to hear them, but he saw her lips move only briefly, then close in a tight line as she turned and headed back towards Johnny. Behind her back, Stephane looked blank for a moment, and then his face crumpled like Johnny hadn't seen in years, since they were kids skating against each other and Stephane hadn't yet learned how to keep the worst of his emotions in check. This time, he turned away nearly immediately and executed a few dizzying spins, then stood by the boards, leaning over and bracing his arms against them.

Johnny wanted to go to him, to make sure he was all right, but instead Galina was calling him over, her voice strained as she gave her next instructions. Stephane returned to the ice almost immediately, going to Viktor, the two of them having a low conversation before he went back into his warmup with more grim determination than Johnny had ever seen from him.

As he left the ice at the end of his practice, Johnny skated over to him and grabbed him around the waist, spinning him in a quick graceless dance, and was rewarded with just the tiniest hint of a smile before twirling away again.

He went home, and he cleaned.

He didn't hear Stephane come in, hours later, because the vacuum was drowning out the sounds of everything in the world – just how he liked it – but when he zipped his way into the living room, humming tunelessly, Stephane was there on the couch, face buried in his hands.

"You're sweating all over my pillows," Johnny told him as he shut the vacuum off, and Stephane looked up at him miserably.

"I showered," he said dully.

"At the _rink_ ," Johnny said, wrinkling his nose, but Stephane looked so pathetic that he let it go. He sat down next to him, even though Stephane didn't really appear to want company. It was his couch, he could do that. "It's worst the first time," he said.

Stephane looked surprised. "What is?" he asked suspiciously.

"Getting told you're worthless," Johnny said. "It gets better."

"That's not what – " Stephane began, then stopped, not seeming to want to repeat what Galina had said to him. "I think maybe she's right."

Johnny felt the same sick feeling in his stomach as he had when Galina had first said something utterly crushing to him. He reached out and put a hand on Stephane's back, just pressing it there, warm and solid, something for him to lean back against. "She's not." He made a face. "I mean, she is, about a lot of things. But whatever she said to you, she didn't say it because she meant it, she said it because she thought hearing it would make you into a better skater."

Stephane seemed to consider that. "I don't think it will," he said. "I think it just hurts."

"Yeah, I never think it's working either," Johnny agreed, rubbing Stephane's back a little. "But I _am_ getting better. So _something_ is."

"You said it, though," Stephane said, pulling away from Johnny's hand and looking at him. "When I started. You said, I cannot do it, I should go home."

Johnny looked at him seriously. "You think you can't?"

"I can," Stephane said with uncharacteristic steely determination.

"Then do it," he said. "And fuck 'em all."

A tiny smile appeared in the corner of Stephane's mouth. "Well, that is a little the problem, no? That I can't?"

Johnny laughed, a little louder than he should have maybe, to cover the way he could feel his face heating up as he remembered the quiet noises Stephane had made on the couch the night before. "Like I said," he told him, "the first time's the worst. Once that's over with, you'll just get the disappointed sighs, that pissy tone. She wants to scare you out of ever doing it again, but of course that's never going to work." He paused. "It's _every_ time you actually have sex, though." He shuddered. "That's maybe not a mistake you want to make too often."

Stephane shook his head obediently. "No," he agreed. "I will make mistakes all on my own." His eyes crinkled up at that, and when Johnny looked at him, they both started laughing.

" _How_ is this our lives?" Johnny asked.

Stephane sighed dramatically. "Clearly we did things horribly wrong in another lifetime."

Johnny grinned at him, then sobered again at the way Stephane was still twisting his fingers together nervously. "Hey," he said, reaching out and covering Stephane's hands to keep them still. "You're fucking amazing on the ice, and you should be here. Anything else is – " he waved his other hand. "Irrelevant."

"Yeah," Stephane agreed, but didn't sound entirely convinced.

"I'm _right_ " Johnny insisted, and because it always seemed to work when he was fighting with Paris, he tickled Stephane's side. Stephane let out an undignified squeak and squirmed sideways towards the end of the couch.

"Hey," he protested, "who was the one worried for your pillows?"

"You showered," Johnny reminded him, and followed him across the couch, going for both of his sides at once, landing in a tangle on top of him. Stephane kicked and twisted his head, laughing, getting his hands up to grab Johnny around the waist, try to tickle him back, but he was laughing too hard, and just ended up clinging to him instead, the tips of his fingers tucking accidentally into the top of Johnny's pants. Johnny felt them there, warm and pressing to his skin, and suddenly he didn't feel so much like laughing anymore, didn't feel like doing anything but ducking his head and claiming Stephane's mouth with his own, pressing their mouths together and relearning how to make him let out these little gasps that were so close to the noises Stephane had made the night before.

His fingers pressed to Johnny's skin around his waist, holding tight to him, not pushing him away but pulling him in closer by his beltloops, not insistent, just bracing Johnny, keeping him steadied on the couch as they kissed until their lips were sore, their breath coming in halting little gasps, Johnny's arms burning from keeping himself propped over Stephane.

It was Stephane who finally pulled away by dropping his head back against the couch cushions, letting out this deep satisfied sigh. "I have been wanting that," he said, and gave Johnny one of the dazzling smiles that he usually reserved for the ice.

Johnny pulled back off his lap and stretched luxuriously over the couch, propping his legs over Stephane. "Mmm," he agreed. The tightening of his pants as he moved reminded him how hard he was, but it wasn't about that, not right now, especially not after the problems Stephane had already dealt with that morning. Instead, Stephane curled a hand around Johnny's ankle where his legs were covering him, and he made a quiet content noise, burrowing down against the pillows and smiling at Johnny before closing his eyes.

That was how Paris found them when he came home, crashing into the apartment like his usual whirlwind, and Johnny woke up only enough to mumble something quieting at him, then drag a blanket over his head and fall immediately back asleep.   
______________

Johnny could hear the sound of groans and terrible music before he even opened the door, and he sighed. "You're just doing this to be a dick, aren't you?" he asked Paris, dropping his bag on the kitchen counter and glaring at him.

"No, I'm doing it to _see_ dick," Paris corrected, beaming at him. "It's your fault for ordering all these cable channels. Did you know there are like eight _thousand_ that show porn? It's _amazing_."

"And terrible," Stephane replied, sounding torn between horrified and amused.

"That too," Paris agreed.

"Sometimes there are costumes," Stephane added, this time coming down on the side of horrified.

"We found _skating_ porn," Paris enthused, flipping between channels. "It was _epic_. Let me see if it's still on."

Johnny raised his eyebrows. "Were they on the ice at the time? Because _that_ , I'd be impressed by." Paris just snorted, but Stephane tilted his head like he was considering the possibility. Johnny grinned. "Trying to work that into your next program?" he asked.

"It sounds like a thing you would do, more than me," Stephane replied, grinning at him.

"If only we'd thought of that when we were making that pairs routine," Johnny lamented. Stephane laughed.

"I think those pictures were scandalous enough, no?" he asked.

Johnny perched on the arm of the couch beside Stephane, watching dubiously as Paris channel surfed, each click bringing with it a new terrible soundtrack, a new set of obscene images. "This is _fun_ for you?" he asked Paris eventually when he paused on what looked like a football team gangbang.

"There are naked men," Paris told him like he was talking to a small child. "Having sex. In our living room. How is that not _amazing_?" He waved at Johnny's door. "Don't like it, you have a room you could go to," he reminded him.

"I don't," Stephane said, tipping his head against Johnny's arm and looking like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world.

"You don't live here," Paris reminded him.

"Paris," Johnny said sharply, warningly.

"He _doesn't_ ," Paris told him. "He's _staying_ here. That's different."

Stephane opened his mouth to say something, but Johnny cut him off. "He paid more rent than _you_ did last month," he said.

Paris grumbled under his breath before saying, "That's not the point."

"Let's not?" Stephane suggested. "Look there, it's a - " he waved at the tv and paused, tilting his head to the side. "I'm...not sure _what_ that is."

Johnny grimaced. "While this is fascinating, and all, I think - " Paris flipped channels, and he paused abruptly, feeling his mind go blank as he watched a guy being pressed back against a set of lockers, getting sucked enthusiastically by another guy, on his knees in front of him. He swallowed, watching the way the man's lips wrapped around the cock, his eyes shut, making these low noises of approval when the other guy pulled out most of the way, then pushed back in. "I'm going to my room," he finally finished, voice a little strangled.

Stephane stood too, looking uncertain. "I'm...going for a walk," he finally settled on.

"It's like eight zillion degrees out," Paris reminded him.

"And yet, there will be fewer men in unfortunate spandex," Stephane said, waving at the tv as Paris changed the channel again.

"Maybe not," Paris warned him. "This _is_ Jersey."

Johnny left his door open, and when Stephane had packed up his bag and gotten ready to leave, he called him in. "If you just want to hide," he said, "my plan is to sit in here, put music on really loud, and not listen to the porn."

"That is a _wonderful_ idea," Stephane said with feeling. He leaned against the doorway to Johnny's bedroom. "Are you sure you don't mind company?"

"You're not company," Johnny said, getting up and pulling Stephane into the room, then shutting the door firmly behind him. "You live here."

"No," Stephane said. "I stay here."

Johnny waved that away. "He's just bitter because he's been here longer," he said. "You've been _around_ longer." He flung himself back onto the bed, hitting a button on his computer and turning some music on, drowning out the sounds of graphic moans from the other room. "I'm a _guy_ , you know?" he said, and Stephane raised an eyebrow, setting his bag aside and settling in at the end of the bed.

"I know," he said significantly, looking Johnny over.

"No, I mean," Johnny elaborated, "I'm a _guy_. I _enjoy_ porn. I enjoy it a _lot_."

"Women enjoy porn too," Stephane said mildly, then flushed. "I hear," he added.

"Sure, sure," Johnny agreed, "but what I'm saying is, there's a _limit_ , you know? And I don't like _all_ porn."

"You?" Stephane asked with a smile. "Picky?"

"I'm not _picky_ ," Johnny told him, tossing a pillow at his stomach. "I just like good porn. And anyway, I don't see the point in just _watching_ it, if you're not going to jerk off."

"Some of it was not bad," Stephane said.

Johnny thought about that blowjob, the intent look of the guy giving it. "Yeah," he agreed. "Some of it."

"But yes," Stephane said, "I think the watching is not the point."

"It's possible he's just trying to torture us," said Johnny. "He's a little bitch like that."

Stephane sighed. "It works," he said. Johnny looked at him with a little smirk, and Stephane shrugged defensively. "You are not alone in being a guy," he reminded him.

Johnny hazarded a glance at Stephane's lap, and could see where his jeans had gotten tight, stretched over him. When he looked back up, Stephane's eyes were doing the same to him, and he smiled a little guiltily when he caught Johnny's gaze. "At times I wish for a room," he admitted. "I think I may shower soon."

Johnny laughed. "I'm pretty sure the point of showering is to get cleaner, not dirtier."

"That is not what Paris's movies tell me," Stephane said with an innocent expression.

"I wouldn't take too many life lessons from Paris," Johnny said. "It never ends well."

Stephane smiled and shifted against the bed. "I think I'll have that shower," he said. He raked his eyes over Johnny's body in this way that was better than any porn. Johnny swallowed.

"You could shower after," he suggested.

"After what?"

Johnny held his gaze and pressed the heel of his hand to himself, feeling a shiver run through him at the feeling. He saw the moment when Stephane caught up, his eyes widening a little, lips parting, gaze falling to Johnny's lap and catching there.

"If you - " he barely managed to say, and cleared his throat. "If you would like." He looked concerned for a moment. "It is not sex if we - " he began, and Johnny shook his head quickly, cutting him off.

"No," he said. "It's not sex, it's just - " he pressed his hand more firmly to himself. "Just relieving some tension."

"Tension, yes," Stephane agreed vaguely, and his hand shook a little as he undid his pants and pushed at them until he could pull his cock out. It was full and hard in his hand, and for a moment, Johnny wanted nothing more than to lean over and take it in his mouth. He breathed slowly and rubbed himself through his pants until the urge passed, and then undid his fly, letting out a little sound without meaning to as he got his hand around himself.

Stephane's eyes went wide and dark at that, and he stared at Johnny's mouth like he was waiting for him to do it again. He didn't, but he twisted his thumb over the head of his cock and let himself moan low in the back of his throat. He watched as Stephane tightened his hand around himself like he was afraid he might come right then and there.

Johnny smirked at him, and said quietly, "I have a thought." He reached over and shut off the music, sinking the room into momentary silence, and Stephane looked puzzled until a series of sharp gasping cries came from the living room, and he flushed, his hips tipping up towards his hand.

"Your tactics are unfair," he said, but he was smiling as he let his head tip back against the wall, his cock moving smoothly through his fist, sliding out over the top of it and making Johnny's mouth water.

He got off like that, fucking into his hand with his eyes closed, listening to the obscene noises from the other room, the sounds Johnny let himself make that were too quiet to be heard through the walls, but just loud enough for Stephane. He sagged back against the wall, after, eyes heavy and barely open, watching Johnny, and Johnny didn't let himself come until Stephane dragged his eyes up from Johnny's cock and said, "Now you?"

He was still shaking a little when Stephane stood, stretching and doing his pants back up. "I'll have that shower now," he said. "And then we use our considerable powers to steal your television back from the forces of evil."

"Evil?" Johnny asked, raising an eyebrow, and Stephane shrugged.

"Evil, Paris, they are sometimes similar."

Johnny stretched out on the bed while he waited for the shower, and put the music back on, because whatever was coming from the tv now sounded suspiciously like animal noises, and he quite frankly just didn't want to know.  
______________

"I am going..." Stephane panted, skating alongside him, his movements sloppy and lacking his customary elegance, "to die."

Johnny shook his head, trying to get his breathing under control before answering. "No dying," he said. "You die, and you leave me alone. With _those two_." The look he gave Galina and Viktor was mutinous.

"Faster," Galina called across the ice. "More like skaters, less like large ugly football players."

"Your _mom_ is a large ugly football player," Johnny said under his breath, and Stephane wheezed more than laughed.

"Don't..." he said, " _do_ that." Johnny beamed at him, then used a sudden burst of energy to skate ahead of him. "I am not," Stephane panted, "a speed skater."

"Clearly," Johnny said cheerfully, and pulled far enough away that he couldn't hear what Stephane grumbled at him in reply.

He was shaking when they got off the ice, his muscles protesting every step, and Stephane's fingers trembled against his laces as they stripped their skates off. They made their way wearily to the locker room, and Johnny plastered himself up against the cool metal of the lockers, pressing his face against it. Stephane jittered around the room behind him.

"I feel like I want to – anything," Stephane said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Run a marathon. Swim across an ocean. Fly."

Johnny smiled, the expression twisting awkwardly on his smushed face. "I feel like I want to never move _again_ ," he said fervently, but spun around, leaning his back against the lockers and cracking it. But he could feel what Stephane was talking about, the jittery nerves of exhaustion, and he tapped his foot against the ground in the rhythm of a song that was too fast for his brain to keep up with. "This isn't skating," he said. "It's _torture_."

"Torture that you wanted," Stephane reminded him, then made shooing motions at Johnny. "My locker," he said. "You're on it."

"And I mentioned the not moving, right?" Johnny asked.

"You did," Stephane said, "but you have my pants."

"You don't need pants," Johnny said. "You've got great legs." Stephane looked down his body like he'd never looked at his legs before. "Show them off."

"Johnny," Stephane said with rare exasperation, and Johnny just grinned back at him, feeling that tension continuing to buzz through his veins. He held his ground not out of laziness, but because there was a part of him that wanted Stephane to come over here and make him move. He wanted an excuse to fight, to push back.

It was still a shock when he actually did, though, when Johnny blinked and suddenly found Stephane up in his face, as close as if they were kissing, except that his hands were at Johnny's waist, trying to move him sideways, and there was nothing at all about this that resembled that night on the couch, except for Stephane's breath ghosting in ragged uneven bursts over Johnny's neck.

"Please," he said in the least polite tone the word could possibly be said, "get out of my way." Johnny beamed at him, the grin of a guy who knew he was being a little shit, and drew a sharp breath as Stephane shoved him back into the lockers, not lightly. "You don't amuse me," he said, and swore under his breath in French as Johnny wiggled against the lockers, planting his feet more firmly against the ground.

"I amuse you all the time," Johnny said, "I'm an amusing guy," and when the next shove came, he was ready for it, bracing himself against the wall and pushing back, sending Stephane back a step or two with a surprised look on his face. "I'm a muscular guy, too," he said dryly.

Stephane made a low noise, almost growling, and launched himself at Johnny again, except that this time he paused with his fingers painfully tight around the tops of Johnny's arms, taking in this deep breath like he was going to say something, and Johnny took the moment as his advantage, sliding a leg between Stephane's and rocking up. Stephane gasped harshly and almost pulled back, then seemed to change his mind and stepped closer instead, his whole body fitting against Johnny's, his cock getting hard between them, Johnny responding by wrapping his hands around Stephane's back, gripping his shirt hard enough to stretch the fabric. He did it again, rolling their hips together, and Stephane made this broken sound like some kind of surrender before he was leaning in, kissing Johnny hard and desperate, his fingers digging tight into his skin, shoving their cocks together through their pants.

"Johnny, _fuck_ ," he said in this wrecked voice when he finally pulled back to breathe, and Johnny didn't bother to form words in response, just made this low humming noise and ground against Stephane, closer to the edge than he ever should be just from this. Stephane's cock was rubbing against his with just the right amount of friction, and he was so close, so _fucking_ close, when he heard the door to the locker room creaking open. He shoved Stephane bodily into the shower and turned his back to the door, leaning over his bag and trying desperately to catch his breath and breathing out a sigh of relief as Stephane turned on the water instead of saying anything, just as Viktor rounded the corner and went for his own locker.

He didn't say anything to Johnny, checking his phone and changing hurriedly, and Johnny gathered his clothes into a neat pile on top of his towel, keeping his back to the door, hoping he looked like he was just waiting for the shower. "Tomorrow," Viktor said distractedly on his way out, and Johnny waved over his shoulder.

"See you," he said numbly, and as soon as the door shut behind Viktor, Stephane popped out of the shower, soaked and shivering, holding his dripping clothes in his hand.

"I turned on cold water instead of hot," he said miserably, taking Johnny's towel and knocking over his clothes, wrapping it around himself and shuddering violently.

Johnny couldn't help but laugh, burying his face in his hands, shaking from adrenaline and nerves and frustration and _everything_. "This was…maybe a bad idea," he said, and Stephane started laughing back, going for his locker and dragging on dry clothes.

"Maybe, yes," he agreed. Most of the tension had evaporated between them, and Johnny sat there on the floor feeling nothing but exhausted, gathering his clothes back up and looking at the shower like it was a million miles away.

"Hand?" Stephane offered, standing over him, and Johnny took it, climbing to his feet like he was eighty years old. He held on for maybe a second too long, and Stephane's fingers stayed around his maybe a little too tight, and when he got into the shower, he stood there under the spray long enough to turn his skin red, letting it pour over his back, and not starting to count the days at all until his first competition of the season was over.

Johnny helped Stephane pack for his exhibition, because clearly no one had ever bothered to teach him the basics of packing. "What do you _mean_ , you don't know what you're bringing?" Johnny asked, scandalized, the night before Stephane got on the plane, and Stephane shrugged.

"I'm bringing clothes?" he offered. "And my skates?" He seemed puzzled that Johnny thought it should be more complicated than that.

So Johnny had mostly packed for him, and had gotten a text when he got home from practice saying _these are not my furs._

 _You might need them,_ he texted back, and the reply was almost instant: _it's August_.

 _And you're in an ice rink_ , he replied, and left his phone in his room while he and Paris had dinner so he didn't have to read whatever snarky answer Stephane came up with.

It was late when he finally went to bed – Paris had gotten hooked on a new reality show, and they'd stayed up, watching and mocking – and when he reached for his phone on the bedside table, it rang in his hand. He jumped, then answered dubiously, since it was way after the time when anyone stopped calling him.

"I have," Stephane said in his ear, sounding like he was beaming wide enough to accidentally swallow his phone, "a room to myself. Do you know what that _means_?"

"You're the only Swiss guy there?" Johnny guessed.

He could practically hear Stephane making a face at him. "I am, yes. But no, it means I have a _bed_. A _bed_ , Johnny."

Johnny laughed. "If you found yourself an apartment, you'd have gotten a bed a long time ago," he reminded him, then added quickly, "but I'm glad you haven't," in case he took that as a dig.

"You just like my pancakes," Stephane said.

"It's true," Johnny agreed, then grinned. "For varying values of 'pancake.'"

Stephane laughed. "I have a bed," he repeated, "and I don't have to see Galina for two more days."

Johnny stopped smiling. "That's just mean," he said.

"Mmm," Stephane agreed. "Is it?"

"Wait," Johnny said, frowning and sitting up against the pillows. "I think you're doing this wrong."

"How so?"

"You have a bed, a room to yourself, all you have to do tomorrow is go out on the ice and show off by doing some pretty spins, and you're on the _phone_? With _me_?"

"Maybe I wanted to gloat," Stephane said.

"I guess they do things differently in Switzerland," Johnny said, "because here, sex is considered a lot more awesome than being a dick to your friends."

" _Being_ a dick is not so much what I had in mind," Stephane said, and fell silent long enough for Johnny to catch on.

He laughed, delighted. "Stephane Lambiel," he said, beaming. "Are you trying to seduce me over the phone?"

"I think it doesn't count as sex if we're in different countries," said Stephane.

"Definitely not," Johnny agreed, and stretched out over his bed, listening to Stephane breathe on the other end of the line while he played with the waistband of his pants. "You're not very good at this," he eventually said.

Stephane made a shameful little noise. "I know," he said, sighing. "It looks much easier in the movies."

"What movies have _you_ been watching?" Johnny asked, grinning down the phone line.

"Paris's, mostly," Stephane admitted.

"Anything good?" Johnny asked.

"Sometimes," Stephane said, and Johnny listened to him shifting around. His voice was a little uneven when he continued, and Johnny closed his eyes, imagining Stephane sprawled out in a hotel bed with a hand around himself. "He mostly watches for the funny ones, but he'll stop sometimes when there's a good blowjob." He paused, quiet for a moment or two, then said wistfully, "I miss blowjobs."

Johnny didn't touch himself yet, but he shifted in his pants, picturing Stephane's lips wrapped around a cock. "Giving or getting?" he asked.

"Both," said Stephane fervently on an exhale. "But I meant giving. I think sometimes…I would like to blow you." Johnny's eyes flew open at that, and he decided that restraint was way overrated. The hand he wrapped around his cock was cold, but it warmed in seconds, and he shivered as he twisted it around the head, imagining Stephane's lips following the same path. "I'm good at it," he said, "I think. I've been told I am." He sounded faintly embarrassed.

"You don't need to sell _me_ ," Johnny said. "I'm as into a blowjob as the next guy."

"I would have, in the locker room," Stephane said, breathless. "If we'd had time. I already had you pinned against the wall. If I got on my knees, you would have stayed there."

Johnny let out a choked noise at that, the thought of Stephane kneeling in front of him, holding his hips back against the lockers, mouth wrapped around Johnny's cock, maybe letting Johnny tangle his fingers into his hair. He thought about fucking Stephane's mouth like that, holding him still, pushing his cock between his lips, maybe watching him jerk off at the same time, there on his knees with his clothes half off.

"I will," Stephane told him. "When I get back." Johnny gasped, his hips coming up off the bed, pushing into his hand. "There on your bed, if you want. Right where you are now, bending over you, sucking you – " whatever he said after that was lost as Johnny dropped the phone and fucked into his hand until he came, gasping loudly in the stillness of his room.

When his fingers worked again, he picked up his phone, saying "hi?" cautiously.

"Mmm," Stephane said in reply, sounding pleased with himself. "You are a little easy, no?"

Johnny scoffed. "I'm not easy," he said, "I'm repressed. Keep mocking, and I won't stay on the line til you get off."

"I think you lose in that case more than me," Stephane pointed out, and let out a low groan.

Johnny felt his mouth go dry. "What are you doing?" he asked, his voice not working nearly as well as he'd like it to.

"I have – " Stephane said a little brokenly, "my fingers…" he stopped then, either distracted or embarrassed, and Johnny imagined him sprawled out there on the bed, hand tucked under him, fucking down onto his hand.

He closed his eyes and let out a tiny noise. " _Fuck_ ," he breathed out. "Can you get off? Like that?"

"If I – " Stephane said, and there was some moving, shuffling, then a muffled gasp. " _Oh_ ," he sighed into the phone. "Yes," he said, "I can, yes."

"Next time," Johnny said, "when we do this, for real, maybe I'll get you off just like that. Fuck you with my fingers and get you to come without ever touching your cock." He thought about it. "Except, no, I kind of really want to touch your cock. That time you jerked off in here?" he said, "I wanted to suck you off."

Stephane made a high pitched whimpery noise, once, twice, again, and then moaned deep in his throat, sighing into the phone, making Johnny wince and hold it away from his ear. He lay quiet for a few moments, catching his breath, and then Johnny could hear him sitting up, composing himself. "This is…" he said, "is it going to be a problem?"

"This?" Johnny asked. "No." He thought about having Stephane back here, in his apartment, in his _bed_ , about having to function like that without touching him, without fucking him through the _floor_ the moment he walked back into the house. "Everything else?" he added. "Probably."

Stephane was quiet for a long while. Finally, he sighed. "I'll be there in two days," he said. "I will have a plan."

"Don't let it be one of your _stupid_ plans," Johnny warned him. "Nothing noble and self-sacrificing or anything, or I'm going to – I don't know, I'll give you to Paris to do with you what he will."

Stephane's laugh was quiet, but it was there, and it made Johnny smile at the phone. "A good plan," he promised, "I'll have one."

"You better," Johnny said. "Or I'm going to have to come up with one myself."

"Anything but that," Stephane said, punctuated with a yawn.

"Go to bed," Johnny said, not unkindly.

"Mmmm," Stephane agreed. " _Bed_." The phone went dead, and Johnny smiled as he clicked it shut and set it aside. Then he burrowed under his covers and lay there, staring at the ceiling, hoping that the Swiss were as good at keeping the peace as their reputation suggested.  
______________

Paris was sitting at the kitchen counter looking concerned when Johnny got in from practice.

"Stephane's in your room," he said warily, fingers curled around his mug, other hand playing idly at the corner of a magazine he seemed to be utterly failing at reading. "I think he's hiding from me. Did I piss him off?" He paused. "You know, more than usual."

Johnny shook his head and stole the mug from Paris's hand, taking a long sip while looking at his door. "No," he said. "He's got...there's stuff," he said with a vague wave of his hand.

Paris frowned. "Skating stuff, or just stuff-stuff?"

"A little of both?" Johnny offered.

"Do I need to be worried?"

"About Stephane?" Johnny raised his eyebrows, surprised. "Since when do you worry about him?"

"About _you_ ," Paris said, looking at him intently.

"Oh." Johnny looked at his door some more. "No," he finally said. "No worrying."

"Mm-hm," Paris said, clearly not believing him. "I was going to be going out tonight, you want me to stick around?"

"No," Johnny said quickly, and Paris raised an eyebrow. "Go," he said, waving a hand, "have fun. Be fabulous." He leaned in to peck Paris on the cheek and then pulled away, taking a deep breath and heading down the hallway.

Stephane was sitting on the bed with his computer in his lap, and he looked up through his hair and smiled as Johnny came in. "I have a plan," he said.

Johnny breathed a sigh of relief. "This is why I keep you around," he said.

"Oh, is _that_ why?" Stephane said, grinning, and clicked the computer shut, setting it aside.

Johnny knelt on the bed next to him, sitting back on his heels and looking at Stephane expectantly. "What," he asked, "is your plan?"

"We need to fuck," Stephane said bluntly.

Johnny blinked. "That...is not a very complex plan," he said.

"No, see, there is logic," Stephane said insistantly, sitting up and talking with his hands, which let Johnny know he was dead serious. "We have seven and a half weeks until you have Skate America. If you are having sex anywhere in there, Galina will be unbearable. If you are _not_ having sex, _you_ will be unbearable."

Johnny wanted to argue with that, but even just sitting here and looking at Stephane's intent face made it clear to him that yes, he probably would, because it was hard to keep himself from just tackling him into the bed right then and there.

"So we take tonight, and we - " Stephane waved a hand delicately. "Deal."

"We deal," Johnny echoed, incredulous.

"We go in tomorrow, we take what Galina throws at us – possibly literally – and then we can survive until October. We can't keep doing..." he looked Johnny up and down hungrily, "this."

Johnny swallowed, thinking of the sound of Stephane getting off over the phone. "No," he agreed, "we really can't."

"So this," Stephane said, gesturing between them, "this will get it...out of our systems, no?"

"No," Johnny said truthfully. "Probably not."

Stephane looked a little crushed. "Probably not, no," he agreed. "But it might. It could."

"Haven't you watched any movies _ever_?" Johnny asked him. "This _never_ works. They always end up falling in love, and it's all...chocolates and roses and big-eyed sappy looks and dramatic love songs." He sighed. "That's not me."

"No," Stephane agreed, "so I don't think that will be a danger."

Johnny looked at him seriously, his intent expression, the way he bit his lip, worrying it between his teeth. "You really think this can work?" he asked.

"You think that if I have you once, you will be irresistable?" Stephane asked with a tiny smile.

Johnny considered. "Yes," he decided.

Stephane let out a surprised little laugh. "You, Johnny Weir, are not _actually_ a sex god."

"Lies!" Johnny cried, and launched himself at Stephane, kissing him teasingly, settling in on Stephane's lap. Stephane kissed him back hungrily, his hands coming up to clasp around Johnny's back, holding him still. "See?" Johnny asked when he pulled away. "You can't say no."

"I'm just a boy who can't say no," Stephane agreed with mock sadness, then sobered for a moment. "This is..." he said, "we can do this?"

Johnny took a deep breath. "We can, yeah," he said. "It...it might make things worse. But it might not. And I'd rather take a chance on getting laid than _not_ getting laid." He sat there on Stephane's lap and sighed. "I've been skating like crap, you know. Galina's ready to kick me out of her rink, I'm pretty sure." He made a face. "She's going to fucking kill us tomorrow."

"She is, yes," Stephane agreed.

Johnny grinned. "But we'll be very well fucked," he added.

Stephane's breath caught a little, and he nodded with wide eyes. "We will."

"Especially you," Johnny told him, leering.

"You think I am not as good at the fucking as you?" Stephane asked. "That sounds like a challenge to me. " He was smiling as he leaned in to kiss Johnny again, with intent this time, pulling him closer, shifting Johnny against his lap and digging his hands into his back. Johnny let himself melt against him a little, sighing into Stephane's mouth. "I like challenges," Stephane said when he pulled back, and in one smooth movement, he had Johnny flipped back against the bed.

Johnny gasped, startled, but then Stephane was stretching out over him, warm and heavy and pushing him down, kissing him again, with more urgency this time. "I want," he said, his hands sliding across the muscles of Johnny's stomach, pushing his shirt up, "I want to touch you." Johnny stretched against the bed, pressing up into Stephane's hands, giving him permission without saying a word, and Stephane took it, running his hands over Johnny's chest, his sides, down to cup his hips. Then he was tugging at the shirt, dragging it off over Johnny's head, and when Johnny sprawled back against the bed, Stephane followed with his mouth and his hands, kissing Johnny's neck, biting his collarbone, warming every inch of his skin with his fingers.

Johnny was squirming against the covers before long, looking for any kind of friction against his cock, and Stephane smiled up at him almost lazily, leaning in to kiss and bite a mark just over the waistband of his pants. "Impatient," he remarked. "We have all night," he reminded him.

"Yeah, and I want to get you off now, so I'll be able to again before tomorrow morning," Johnny said, eyeing Stephane's pants.

Stephane blinked. "Oh," he said, as if he'd forgotten that Johnny wouldn't be the only one getting spectacularly sucked off. "I…yes, okay," he agreed. "But you first." Then he was leaning down, mouthing Johnny through his pants, slowly undoing them and pushing them down and off. He drew in a sharp breath as he realized that Johnny was wearing nothing under them, and Johnny grinned down at him.

"I thought maybe this might be part of your plan," he said, and reached out to touch the corner of Stephane's lips, drawing in a breath as Stephane twisted his head and sucked two of Johnny's fingers into his mouth, working his tongue over them, hollowing his cheeks around them. " _Fuck_ ," Johnny breathed out, and Stephane hummed around his fingers, then pulled back with a low pop.

"Not yet," Stephane told him, "just this," and then he was pulling back, settling against the headboard, and Johnny looked at him, puzzled, until he sat back up, grabbed Johnny around the waist, and bodily dragged him forward. He shifted against the pillows, sinking down further, and looked pointedly at Johnny's cock, then up at his face. "Come here," he said, tongue lingering over his bottom lip, and Johnny felt his mind go a little blank.

"I – " he started to say, then couldn't figure out what could possibly be more important than climbing up the bed and letting Stephane take his cock in his mouth, so he crawled forward, kneeling up a little awkwardly until Stephane reached for him, guiding him forward, and then it was nothing but mindblowingly hot, looking down to see Stephane's lips wrapping around his cock, feeling his hands closing over Johnny's ass, coaxing him into a rhythm.

He tried to hold back, tried not to lose himself entirely in the feeling of Stephane's mouth hot and wet and tight around him, the low noises he made when Johnny pulled back far enough, the grip of his fingers urging Johnny forward, but then Stephane was twisting his head, pulling off his cock, gasping out, "you can, please, I want – " and then leaning back in, closing his mouth around him again, and that was all it took for Johnny to lose the last thin edge of his control.

He held onto the headboard with one hand, tangling the other into Stephane's hair and waiting for a squeeze of approval from Stephane's fingers, and then he was arching forward, pushing down Stephane's throat, letting out these sounds he had forgotten he could make at all. He tried to keep his eyes open, watching Stephane's eyes flutter closed, his lips stretched around Johnny's cock, but then Stephane was dragging his tongue up the underside, and doing something in the back of his mouth that made Johnny's eyes roll back a little, and he couldn't hold on any longer, couldn't keep himself from slamming into him, throwing his head back and coming down Stephane's throat.

He pulled back nearly immediately, flopping onto the bed, and Stephane coughed, rolling onto his stomach, gasping for breath. "Fuck," Johnny said weakly, and reached to touch Stephane's back. "Are you – "

He stopped when Stephane raised his head to look at him, because there was nothing but raw _need_ in his eyes, and Johnny responded to it, grabbing his hair and dragging him forward to kiss him, hard and biting and fucking _claiming_ him, Stephane's hands all over every inch of him he could reach, their bodies pressing together sweaty and overheated and exhausted, and Stephane was hard against his hip, rocking over him like he could get himself off just like this, by grinding against Johnny's leg, and he'd be the happiest guy alive.

"Hey," Johnny said between kisses, rubbing Stephane's back lightly, "hey, just…let me…" and he was pushing Stephane by the shoulder, tipping him over onto his back, stripping his clothes off. Stephane made a sharp whining noise, and Johnny quieted him by sliding down the bed, saying "I'm just going to – " with his mouth inches from his cock, and then he was sucking two of his own fingers into his mouth, slicking them, then sliding his hand down to press against Stephane as he sucked the tip of his cock into his mouth. Stephane's hips snapped up off the bed, startled, pushing his cock against Johnny's lips, and Johnny pulled back just a little, smiled, said, "you seemed to enjoy this, the other night," and then pushed the tips of his fingers inside, twisting a little. He ducked down to suck Stephane in again, and then Stephane's hand came down to cup the back of his neck. He lost himself in the rhythm of it, the stretch of his jaw, the slide of Stephane's cock into his mouth, the tight friction around his fingers as he curled them, fucking into Stephane until he started making these intense and amazing noises with each thrust.

He sped up his movements, sucking harder, and Stephane didn't even try to keep still, writhing under him, rocking between his hand and his mouth, until he was making these breathless gasping sounds, grabbing at Johnny's head, and then he was coming, his fingers curling almost gently into the ends of Johnny's hair, holding him still, letting out this low pornographic moan.

Johnny collapsed next to him when he pulled off, and Stephane reached out for him blindly, pulling him in, kissing him desperately, and then he was dragging Johnny against his side, both of them breathing heavily, Johnny pressing his face to Stephane's neck while he tried to gather his strength again enough to get under the covers.

Stephane grumbled when Johnny pulled away, but when he figured out what the plan was, he just rolled over grumpily and let Johnny drag the sheets out from under them. He made a low appreciative noise when they curled up together underneath, though, shivering a little against Johnny's back. "We should set an alarm," he mumbled against Johnny's neck, pausing to press kisses there between words. "I don't want to sleep all night."

"Oh," Johnny told him, "you _won't_ ," and Stephane couldn't see how he was leering, but he knew that he could tell by the way he laughed quietly against Johnny's skin.  
______________

It might have been night by the time they woke – Johnny had left the shades closed when he went to the rink that morning, and hadn't bothered to open them when he got home to find Stephane in his bed – so he didn't know what time it was when he opened his eyes to the feeling of Stephane lying stiff and turned on behind him.

"You're not very good at pretending to be asleep," he said, and Stephane jerked guiltily.

"I didn't want to wake you," he said.

"Says the guy who wanted to set an _alarm_ ," Johnny reminded him.

"Yet," Stephane added, and Johnny could feel him shrug. "You looked…calm."

Johnny laughed at that. "Yeah, that's not something I usually am when I'm awake," he admitted.

Stephane hummed in agreement, then wrapped his arm around Johnny's waist and pressed against him. "You said…" he said low beside his ear, "something about doing things again?"

Johnny smiled into the pillow and pressed his hips back, rocking his ass against Stephane's cock, letting it slide smoothly along the groove there. "I did," he agreed.

He could feel Stephane's breathing get faster against his skin, and his arm tighten around him. "Is this…?" he ventured, "can I…?"

"Bedside table," Johnny told him, and admired the way that Stephane didn't pull away from him, just rolled with his top half to go for the drawer. He lay there, still, listening to the sounds of him moving around, and then he was shifting a little awkwardly behind him. "I don't need – " Johnny said, and caught Stephane's hand, bringing it back around his waist. "Just… _you_."

Stephane swore under his breath in French, then he was nodding, pressing his body tight to Johnny's back, and holding him close like he was trying to brace him. "Tell me if – " he started, and Johnny reached back to grab his hip and pull hard.

"Fuck me," he said, his voice uncommonly rough, and Stephane moaned quietly, rubbing his cock over Johnny's ass, and then he was pushing in, so impossibly slowly that Johnny wanted nothing more than to push himself back onto him. But he waited, holding his breath, feeling the hot weight of Stephane's arm around him, the press of his body against his back, his cock slowly filling him, letting him go at his own pace, letting him sink into him with this breathless gasp, and then start rocking his hips, slow, almost lazy.

He didn't know how long they stayed there like that, tangled together under the sheets, moving slowly, almost teasing each other, except for how Stephane's cock was hitting Johnny at exactly the right angle, and his hand had come down to wrap around him, jerking him slowly in time to his thrusts, and it was the slowest , most unbearable buildup Johnny had ever felt in his _life_ , until he closed his eyes and thought he saw lights flashing against his eyelids, every inch of him vibrating with unspent energy, Stephane shaking against him, so close to coming that all it took was for Johnny to say quietly, "now, please," and he was falling apart, his face pressed to Johnny's neck, crying out and coming inside him, his thumb brushing over the head of Johnny's cock, and Johnny held on until he'd stilled behind him, pulled out, and then he dragged Stephane's arms around him again, cinching them tight, and got off like that, with Stephane's leg draped over his, holding every inch of him still but his hand, moving in a blur around his cock.

Johnny kicked off the blankets after that, and they pulled apart, sprawling, stretching their achy muscles, and he thought Stephane had fallen asleep when he suddenly rolled over and propped his head up on his hand.

"You know what I would like?" he asked.

"If you say to do that again," Johnny told him, "I will remind you that neither one of us is exactly sixteen right now." He tilted his head. "Which is probably for that best, since that would have been really illegal."

Stephane smiled. "Well, I _do_ want to do that again," he said, "but not now. No, what I want, right now, more than almost anything? Is pancakes."

Johnny blinked at him, then felt a grin spreading across his face. "I give you my ass, and you give me pancakes? I have to say, I like this exchange."

Stephane laughed and tossed a pillow at Johnny's face as he climbed out of bed, then stood there stretching in the darkness, the shadows falling flatteringly over his muscles. Johnny lie there in bed and watched him until he turned and opened the door, blinking in the light from the hallway, then headed for the kitchen. Johnny leaned out over the edge of the bed to watch his ass, then flopped back, beaming.

"I'm letting you make all my plans from now on," he called into the kitchen. "Also all my pancakes."

Stephane replied from what sounded like the depths of the refrigerator, so Johnny couldn't make out the words, but he was grinning anyway as he got up out of bed, tied his robe around his waist, and followed him into the kitchen.   
______________

"We're going to be – " Stephane objected, but Johnny shut him up by sealing his mouth with a kiss. It was too early, he was too uncaffeinated, and he wasn't ready yet to leave the comfortable warmth of his bed, the feeling of Stephane stretched out beside him.

"I know," he said, pulling back, knowing his voice sounded a little frantic. He couldn't help it, he just dropped his head to Stephane's shoulder and said, "I know," again, grabbing Stephane's hips and sliding one of his legs between them. "I just…I'm going to…" and he rocked down against him, watching the way Stephane's eyes slid closed, feeling his hands come up and grab Johnny's waist.

"Yes," he breathed, and that was all Johnny needed to get a hand down between them, wrap it around both their cocks, and start fucking into it, feeling Stephane's skin impossibly soft against his own, hot and delicate. He kept his head tilted against Stephane's shoulder, watching the tips of their cocks slide up over the top of his hand, brush their bellies as they moved. Stephane's hands stayed around his waist, moving him, keeping him steady, and they were both quiet, right up until the end when Stephane let out this helpless stuttered series of broken noises, and came into Johnny's hand. Johnny only lasted another few seconds, then pressed his face to the crook of Stephane's neck as he came.

He lay there breathing for as long as he could, until Stephane started getting restless under him. "We have to…" he prompted, and Johnny nodded, not moving.

"She won't be so bad," Stephane said hopefully. "…maybe."

"Oh, she will," Johnny told him, sighing. Then he got up and went to his closet, started pulling on clothes. "She's not what I'm worried about, though."

Stephane was quiet behind him as he dressed. "What _are_ you worried about, then?" he asked.

Johnny didn't look at him as he said, "The seven weeks that come _after_ her."

He could see Stephane flinch out of the corner of his eye. Then he was coming over, picking up Johnny's skate bag, handing it to him. "We've known each other how long?" he asked.

Johnny looked at him warily. "Ten years or so?"

Stephane held out his hands, like that proved his point. When Johnny raised an eyebrow, Stephane grinned. "We lasted ten years," he said. "Seven weeks is nothing!"

His smile was so expectant that Johnny couldn't help but let his mouth curve up a little bit as he replied, "Well, when you put it that way…"

"You go win Skate America," Stephane told him, "and I'll reward you with whatever you want."

Johnny looked him over. "And if I don't win?" he asked.

"I get to do whatever _I_ want," Stephane told him, and turned Johnny towards the door.  
______________

Seven and a half weeks later, Johnny was in the middle of an interview when his phone rang. He excused himself and ducked away from the reporters, pressing it to his ear and answering.

"Competition is over, you should come home now," Stephane told him.

Johnny peeked around the corner at where Galina was in the middle of lamenting the loss of the gold to a collection of microphones. "I'm working on it," he said, and could hear Stephane grinning at him as he replied.

"I think," he said, "for our purposes, silver should count as a tie." Johnny felt his face go warm, and he looked down at his skates as he clicked his phone shut without answering, already planning out exactly how he was going to collect his winnings.


End file.
